


Angel's Food

by RefrainGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Birthday Cake, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Crowley Bakes (Good Omens), Crowley Cooks (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RefrainGirl/pseuds/RefrainGirl
Summary: His visitor was quite early by demon standards, currently slinking through the doorway with a large box of something nestled in his arms. It was painted with the colors of an old style bakery (one of the angel’s favorites, though there were too many to keep proper track of unless you possessed Crowley’s attention span), and he briefly stopped to contemplate the reasoning behind this gift. True, there usually was a box of delicious goodies slung under his demon’s arm whenever he decided to come by, but this was… different, somehow. Perhaps Crowley simply felt a surprise was in order, yet Aziraphale suspected that something else was afoot.It figures that Aziraphale would forget all about his birthday - or his Beginning Day, if you will.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	Angel's Food

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my first fic for Good Omens that I've written. I have a few others drafted up, but they still need work. I hope to post them soon. For now, this is the first one I've finished. It's just a little fluff piece based on the headcanon that Crowley is an amazing cook solely for Aziraphale's benefit. I know that birthdays are kind of pointless for beings like them, but this basically wrote itself.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy my first contribution to this fandom!

“Mm. This’ll do.”

Crowley peered intently at a small recipe card that dangled on a metal ring. This was where he kept all of a certain someone’s favorite recipes, most of them baked goods, along with a few cards that had nothing at all to do with cooking and everything to do with mixing alcohol and other sweet things together in a shaker. Written on them were the few tried and tested cocktail recipes that his angel really liked because not only did they taste delightful, but they also got him drunk really fast.

Save that for later. Right now, the card he was currently holding was the best choice for the occasion.

Aziraphale didn’t have a real birthday to speak of. He was a celestial angel who had been created rather than birthed. But if he had come from the womb, then it would have been quite a number to place on top of a fluffy Angel’s Food cake. Crowley trusted it would suffice that he had picked such an obvious dessert to celebrate with instead.

“Don’t think they have candles with that high a number,” he mused, picking out a bag of flour from a lower cupboard. “Unless you buy ‘em separate. That’s too much trouble though.”

Those kinds of days generally weren’t celebrated by anyone Downstairs either, mostly because age didn’t factor into anything when you were an immortal being. Besides, demons were too busy being bitter about what they’d lost when they Fell to appreciate the day in which they had come to exist. A lot of them resented it, spent eternity trying to forget rather than remember something that traumatic.

Crowley didn’t hold it against them. He wasn’t eager to relive that period of his existence either, but it hadn’t stopped Aziraphale from popping by with a small cake in one hand and a vintage bottle of Chardonnay in the other. Same time, same exact day of every year without fail. And though it served as a bit of a stinging reminder of his early years Upstairs before everything went sideways, Crowley couldn’t say that it was all bad. His angel smiled so brightly each time (wishing him a ‘Happy Beginning’ as it were, rather than a birthday) with such enthusiasm that he couldn’t possibly bring himself to refuse the company. It had soon become more of a reminder that his presence was accepted and appreciated - a sentiment that he never tired of hearing from the angel.

They always got gloriously drunk on these special occasions and thanks to their usual efforts to sober up, the cake rarely projected itself into the toilet bowl. Which was good, because Crowley didn’t want all his hard work to be wasted.

He placed the bag onto the kitchen counter and gripped thoughtfully at his chin. Was there anything else he needed? Nah, looked like everything was present and accounted for.

“Lessee. Mixing bowl, check. Spatula, check. Cake pan… yup, check - wait, hold on.”

Something wasn’t quite right. His slitted pupils ran over the ingredients sitting in an obedient line on the counter, single file, until they finally narrowed on the culprit sitting at the far end. The plants elsewhere in his flat snapped to sharp attention. They knew what that look entailed, and if they weren’t on their best behaviour then it would result in one of them being plucked from the ranks, never to be seen again. Pity those poor ingredients didn’t have a lick of sense between the lot of them. They had been in the flat almost as long as the plants. They should be able to recognize what Crowley’s various expressions meant by now.

Yet the bag of flour he’d procured was as oblivious as ever, even when it had become clear that _it_ was the guilty party, that _it_ was the object who had committed the offence. The poor bag stood at a weird angle compared to the rest of its fellow ingredients, out of position and slouching like the lazy layabout it had always been. Frowning, Crowley reached over, adjusting its placement none too gently until everything was perfectly symmetrical.

He leaned down, bringing his face close to the bag and resting his chin on folded arms. “You’re lucky, you know,” he drawled in a disinterested voice. “I told Aziraphale that I’d be over at six, and you happen to be the last bag of flour I have. Would be such a shame if you had a… mishap, wouldn’t it? I could make that a reality, but then I’d have nothing to offer him today. Damn lucky, you really are.”

The plants understood that fact clearly. However, the flour simply drooped lower, as if in defiance of such a brutal statement. Its actions didn’t go unnoticed.

“I get it. You’re a rebel, inspiring everyone else to follow your lead. Can’t say I don’t admire your moxie. However…”

Crowley let a sadistic grin twist his lips. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but some things need to be quashed early on,” he sneered. There was a loud slam as a heavy-duty, stainless steel abomination of a mixer collided with the countertop. It gleamed, cold and metallic, in the artificial light of the kitchen. The echo of the sound made his plants flinch, and this time he noticed.

“See? They know what’s coming,” he said with a jerk of the head in their leafy direction. “Least some of ‘em have common sense. Can’t say the same for you, or your mates. You’ve disappointed me, and trust me when I say you won’t like what comes next.”

A pair of fangs gleamed dangerously as he smiled, and for the first time an ominous feeling of future doom lurked in the back of the flour’s tiny sack mind.

* * *

Aziraphale heard the shop’s bell trill, and he instinctively prepared to make another failure of a sales attempt. He couldn’t in good conscience turn the customer immediately away, not while he was casually sitting behind the desk like a proper shopkeeper should. Drat, hadn’t he turned the bookshop sign to closed? He couldn’t quite recall if he had.

But as he glanced up from his reading, he saw a reassuring sight. No unexpected customers, no uninvited guests. Nothing of the sort, thank goodness. His visitor was quite early by demon standards, currently slinking through the doorway with a large box of something nestled in his arms. It was painted with the colors of an old style bakery (one of the angel’s favorites, though there were too many to keep proper track of unless you possessed Crowley’s attention span), and he briefly stopped to contemplate the reasoning behind this gift. True, there usually was a box of delicious goodies slung under his demon’s arm whenever he decided to come by, but this was… different, somehow. Perhaps Crowley simply felt a surprise was in order, yet Aziraphale suspected that something else was afoot.

The tall, lithe frame stepped further inside, pushing the door shut behind him with a bounce of his hip. Then he pushed his glasses firmer onto his face, giving a short wave once he noticed he was being stared at. “Hi,” he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

Aziraphale was a bit stunned, so he responded in kind. “Hello.” He looked over at the clock on the wall. Four thirty, it read. “Er. You’re early,” he stammered.

“Fashionably.”

“You’re never this early, Crowley.”

The demon shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t have anything else to do today.”

“Not a single temptation in sight? I find that difficult to believe.”

“Well, believe it.”

“Don’t ask me to believe such an obvious lie, dear.”

There was a loud, undignified snort as the box was set on the table. “So I need to have a reason to show up early now, do I?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Of course not, I just meant… Oh, never mind. I’m as pleased to see you as ever.”

The angel lifted his face, unaware that he looked so utterly hopeful for a kiss, and Crowley let out a softer snort at the sight. “Manipulative bastard,” he muttered, quiet enough not to get a scolding for his choice of language. If Aziraphale had heard him, he probably would have taken a moment to bask in the endearment before saying anything. He grinned and bent down to oblige, the contact of their lips affectionate and chaste.

“‘M pleased to see you too. Y’know, I don’t have to tempt if I don’t wanna, angel,” he complained rather good-naturedly afterward, falling easily onto the couch beside Aziraphale. It didn’t take long for him to scoot closer, letting their knees knock softly together. “What I do‘s basically all for sport now, just keepin’ my skills from getting rusty. Doesn’t feel the same, not like it used to… but, eh.”

Neither of them were required to work their miracles on the humans anymore, at least not in the name of their respective offices. Ex-offices? Past offices? Post-offices?

No, that one was far too confusing to use.

Either way, all that really mattered was that they were being left to their own devices at last, which was extremely refreshing after being tracked so intently by the forces Upstairs for the past few years. Before, there had been times where Aziraphale thought he could actually feel Gabriel breathing right down his neck. In reality it was probably nothing that dramatic, but the tension hadn’t left him fully until just a couple months ago. He supposed that they had both lain low long enough for everyone to consider them harmless in the grand scheme of things. Crowley had felt it too, the sudden absence of eyes on them, and they had chosen that moment to bond together… emotionally _and_ physically.

There was a certain amount of freedom that came with being let go, but Crowley couldn’t change his demonic nature any more than Aziraphale could change his angelic one. Lately he had caught sight of ten separate areas containing pennies that were permanently fastened to the sidewalk, testament to how bored the demon was becoming.

Although, if he was being perfectly honest, watching Crowley set up that simple, guilty pleasure of a temptation always made him smile. It said a lot about his character that, out of every trick he could possibly use to tempt humanity, his favorite ended up being the most innocent-sounding thing in the world.

“Is that why you’ve taken to placing pennies all over London again?” he asked fondly.

Crowley made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “Just a bit of fun, really.”

“Did anyone fall for it yet?”

“Nuh.” A disappointed sigh disturbed the silence, accompanied by a similarly disappointed frown on the demon’s face. “Nobody cares about pennies as much as they used to. They’re phasing ‘em out completely in some places.”

“Is that so? Have you considered changing to a slightly higher currency?” Aziraphale suggested, trying to be helpful. “People might be intrigued if they find something more substantial than a penny at their feet.”

But Crowley didn’t react other than to shrug. It was fluid, seeming to move all of him in one slinking line rather than just bringing his shoulders up and down. “Doubt it’ll make a difference,” he said, moving his arms up behind his head. “In an age where people use bitcoins to buy stuff online, I think it’s safe to say that tempting folks with spare change is heading out the window, fast.”

“How dreadful to lose one of your favourite hobbies.”

“Yup,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

A comfortable silence settled between them, or it would have if Aziraphale could bring himself to relax even the slightest amount. He’d been valiantly trying to ignore it during the entire conversation, but now he couldn’t resist a peek at the bakery box. A delectable scent wafted under his nose for the millionth time, and whatever was hiding inside made his mouth water worse than it ever had. Licking his lips didn’t diminish the desire to open up the box. In fact, it almost made him drool, and if there was one thing that the angel disliked doing, it was drooling. One ruined perfectly clean clothes doing that, not to mention the stares you got when it happened in public.

“So?” Underneath Crowley’s glasses, an intent stare was being fixed in his direction. “You gonna open it or what?”

Aziraphale blinked at him in a slight daze, horribly distracted by the smell of something delicious and attempting not to look like it. The box was patiently awaiting him, begging to reveal its blissfully sweet cargo to the rest of the shop. “It’s for me?” he asked, realizing how silly that sounded immediately after he said it.

But Crowley simply laughed it off, an adoring chuckle that was enchanting to his ears. “Jeez angel, ‘course it’s for you. D’you think I’d do this for anybody else?”

 _Not likely_ , he thought, blushing up to his ears. “Then… may I ask what brought this on?”

One elegant eyebrow lifted past the edge of Crowley’s shades. He crossed his arms, leaning in till they were almost nose to nose. “You forgot. Again.”

“Forgot what?”

He stared hard at the angel for a minute, but his neutral expression quickly melted into one of amused exasperation. “Figures you’d remember mine but never yours,” he sighed, falling back into the couch. Though his eyes were still hidden, that was obviously an eye roll. “Whatever, jus’ open it already. Don’t got all day.”

Was there something important he’d forgotten? Apparently so.

Aziraphale pouted his lips, wracking his brain for anything he might have missed putting on his calendar lately; but he couldn’t for the life of him figure it out, so he decided to follow the demon’s orders for the time being. He lifted the lid on the box and peered inside.

“Oh, a cake! This looks positively scrummy!” He beamed happily, like he’d been given a priceless copy of a rare book that had been evading him for some time. “I can’t recall when I last had Angel’s Food cake. Thank you, dear.”

Somehow, his elated reaction wound up turning Crowley’s entire face a deep, dark shade of red. He turned away from the angel, waving a hand dismissively at the dessert. “Y-yeah, sure, enjoy it then,” he muttered, although Aziraphale could still feel those golden eyes watching him.

There was a fork and a knife already placed in the box along with a small plate, and he wasted no time in cutting a piece for himself. He gently broke a small corner off on his fork and was about to have a taste when he paused, giving the tidbit a scrutinizing look. There was something achingly familiar about… ah, that’s what it was.

Crowley, noticing his reaction, straightened up in his seat. “What? No good? I can ma - ah, I mean…” He frowned down at his clasped hands for a second, then looked imploringly over at Aziraphale. Which, in this case, meant staring directly at his shoes. “I’ll go pick out whatever you want, angel. Just say the word.”

His tone seemed to inquire if he’d made a mistake of some sort, and afterwards he glanced off to the side, grumbling under his breath about a bag of flour. Something about how it had done its best?

Aziraphale just barely heard that comment, it was spoken in such a hushed whisper; but when he registered what had been said, all the other little details he’d picked up on clicked right into place. Crowley had gone very far out of his way to bring this cake to him. To _make_ this cake for him. That was why the scent of it drew him in so effortlessly, and why he could tell at a glance that this was an irresistible delicacy that only his demon could provide. Over all the years they’d spent together, Aziraphale had come to recognize Crowley’s cooking as singular and unparalleled in all the realms, a real treat to be savored when it presented itself. There could be no mistaking a creation of his for anyone else’s. It was too absurd to even consider. Whatever he made held such distinguishable flavors and aromas compared to the usual storebought human food, or even homemade human food for that matter, and it always turned out beautifully. _That’s a unique talent to have_ , Aziraphale thought proudly.

Speaking of talents, his demon appeared to be suffering from another of his legendary sulking moods. He was slouched against the cushions with his shoulders hunched and his brow furrowed, looking very much the image of an absolutely dejected mess. The occasional flick of an agitated snakelike tongue skittered behind his gritted teeth. No doubt he thought that Aziraphale didn’t like what he’d brought at all.

Well, now. He had to stop those thoughts right away.

“Whatever I want. Hm,” he mused, pretending to be talking strictly to himself. The instant he spoke Crowley’s eyes were on him, attentive as ever. “I want…”

“Yeah?”

The angel decided to finally bring the forkful of cake past his lips. All too aware of the way Crowley’s throat bobbed when the fork came away clean, he smiled over at him. “You,” he stated simply. “That’s it. That’s all I want.”

There was silence for a couple of seconds, and then a string of adorably unintelligible sounds slipped out of Crowley.

“You had best get a wiggle-on. Who knows how long the stores stay open on the weekends.”

His grin, along with those few teasing words, managed to snap Crowley out of his slump. “Shut it,” he hissed, trying and failing to glare in anger at the smug angel. “Think you’re ssso clever, eh? Well, you’re not!”

Aziraphale sighed and took a swig of his drink, readying his palate for another nibble. “I’m about as clever as I need to be,” he replied, stuffing a bigger piece of the cake into his mouth. Once he swallowed, he raised his eyebrows. “Did you make this to celebrate the day I came into being?”

It was the only event he could think of that would prompt such a present from Crowley (and also the only day he kept consistently forgetting about until it was upon him - he had literally just remembered a few minutes ago), but his guess must have been correct. A powerful blush had completely taken over Crowley’s face now.

“What’re you talking about?” he exclaimed, avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze as much as possible. “I didn’t bake that cake! C’mon, demons don’t _bake_ things!”

He had moved to cover his mouth with the back of his hand, a feeble attempt at hiding the rising heat in his cheeks. Of course he could only cover up so much, and by that point Crowley was blushing fiercely enough that even a solar eclipse couldn’t have obscured his embarrassment.

“I went to the bakery, so what you’re digging into is a plain old bakery cake. Sorry to disappoint,” he added offhand, though there was a bit of a vulnerable edge to his words.

Oh, dear.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, eyes asking permission, waiting until he brought it away from his face and slowly lowered it into the angel’s before carefully settling it into his lap. Their fingers came together to form a tight weave, and he could feel the demon’s hand trembling slightly under his. “I’m not disappointed,” he reassured him. “Quite the opposite, in fact. What you do for me goes so far above and beyond what anyone else would ever do, that it’s easy for me to tell.”

“Tell what?”

“How much you love me.”

Crowley frowned, his sidelong glance lingering longer than necessary. And then, something beautiful happened. He still wouldn’t look straight at Aziraphale, but a warm, gentle smile eventually replaced the frown, one that made him look every inch the angel he used to be. “Glad you noticed,” he murmured, scratching at the back of his head. Of course, once he realized the sheer scale of what he’d admitted to, he began to desperately backtrack. “Er, no, not that I’ve been vying for your attention all this time! I, y’know, ’s like, well…”

Aziraphale smiled. The spluttering was a good sign if ever he’d seen any. “I’d have to be a fool not to notice, my dear.”

“I mean, I mean, angel, I just happened to be around, luck of the draw, circumstances…”

“Rescuing me seems to be your forte, actually.”

He moaned and swiveled his head to stare at the roof, most of it having to to with the mortification that he’d been caught in the act of pining. “Not ‘specially… You were around, I was around. Already said that, didn’t I? ‘S true though! If you were less careless I wouldn’t’ve had to keep tabs, would I!? Er. Shit.”

“Oh, I love you too, my dearest heart.”

The angel came close and pecked his cheek, watching with an amused smile as Crowley’s hand shot up to touch the spot. He was malfunctioning badly at this point, which is why the truth finally made itself known, or at least in Crowley’s eyes it did. “Alright, look here,” he began hesitantly. “You were right, angel. I went to that bakery to pick up an empty box! ‘S all I went there for! The rest was jus’ me, okay!? Went through a lot of trouble to get the ingredients prepared ‘n all that…”

“So you did make it for me.”

“Ngk. Y-y… yeah…”

“I thought the cake smelled familiar,” Aziraphale said, although his voice was filled with such absolute certainty that it would’ve been impossible to think that he hadn’t already figured it out. He smiled kindly at the flustered, handsome demon who was still avoiding his gaze. “I can always tell when you bake something for me, Crowley.”

His face paled. “Always?”

“Always. Without fail.”

That statement brought his eyes back to centre on Aziraphale at last, his expression one of shocked indignation. “What d’you mean ‘without fail’!? How long have you always known!?”

Ignoring him, Aziraphale paused to enjoy yet another mouthful of cake. “Mm. Simply marvellous. Nothing carries quite the same alluring taste as what you make for me,” he admitted, sending Crowley an appreciative look that made him squirm in his seat. “And there’s a certain patina about each food that I just can’t describe… which is also why I stopped myself earlier. When faced with something so special, it wouldn’t do to treat it without the reverence it deserves.”

Crowley looked like he was debating whether or not to mention something, but in the end he gave up, leaning his chin on his free hand. “Great. Here I thought I was being crafty,” he griped, albeit in a half-hearted manner. “All my years of sneakin’ behind your back were for nothing! Well, at least you liked what I made. I consider that a win.”

“I didn’t just like it, Crowley. I loved it, as I love you.”

He squeezed the slender hand that was still linked with his, and a part of him thrilled deep inside when he felt Crowley’s answering squeeze. The expression he wore made him out as being quite annoyed; but Aziraphale knew what to look for better than anybody on Earth. He could see the barest hint of a smile on his lips, feel the tiniest flicker of an uneven pulse in his wrist.

Crowley didn’t show off his sensitive side for anyone other than his angel.

He mumbled something under his breath, and Aziraphale strained to hear it. “I’m sorry, I missed what you said, dearest.”

Crowley groaned up at the roof again before shyly frowning in his direction. “I said… Happy Beginning, angel.”

He was touched, and his face felt like it was being split apart by the size of his smile. “Why, thank you, Crowley. That means so much, coming from you,” he said, and anybody would have been able to see that it was no lie.

The demon blushed and rubbed a hand over his cheeks with a grunt, slightly irked that his face kept repeatedly going red, but he wasn’t that upset about it. Not really. “Same goes for you, Aziraphale. I never used to consider my first day of life to be that important… at least, not till you made it important,” he confessed. It looked like Crowley had been about to say more when he blinked as if in pain, and suddenly he was giving Aziraphale a pointed look. “Oi, knock it off.”

“Knock what off?”

“Ugh.” Crowley actually stopped to shade his eyes - and they were still hidden behind dark glasses. “I know you love me, but quit sparkling so much. You’re gonna make me go blind.”

“Oh? Whoops, my apologies.” Raising his hand, Aziraphale snapped the light radiating around him away with a slight grimace. “Sorry dear, it happens without a thought sometimes.”

The golden shimmer of a joyous angel was becoming commonplace whenever Crowley doled out a meaningful compliment, so he was getting used to it. “No worries. ‘S fine,” he mumbled, reaching under the tinted lenses to rub at his eyes.

“By the way, if it isn’t a trade secret… How do you get your food to taste so wonderful?”

The angel gazed inquisitively over at the cake, sitting half-eaten in the middle of his table, and then back at Crowley, hoping he’d get an answer. “There must be some sort of technique, or a special ingredient you use…?”

Crowley lifted his hand to stare at him, and then he chuckled in a way that reminded the angel that he was, now and forever, in love with a demon. He slid his glasses a ways down his nose, revealing mischievously glinting eyes for the first time that evening. “Oh, it’s nothing I don’t normally do,” he said, the dubious tone making Aziraphale lift a brow.

If you were curious, the reason why Crowley’s food was so perfect shared an answer with another similar question that the angel already knew the answer to. They were the most scrumptious concoctions in the whole of Soho. Also, the most terrified.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on Tumblr!
> 
> You can find me at my main blog [@refraingirl](https://refraingirl.tumblr.com/) or at my writing blog [@refraingirl-the-writer](https://refraingirl-the-writer.tumblr.com/)!


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